


An Ever-Fixed Mark

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dildos, Established Relationship, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: Thomas brings home a box of his belongings. Some are more interesting than others.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	An Ever-Fixed Mark

**Author's Note:**

> A little pornier than what I usually write. For the Terror Fan Bingo Challenge square "established relationship."
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.

The trunk is quite small, about half the size of what an officer would be permitted to bring on ship. More of a box than a trunk, really. One side is pockmarked, evidence of woodworms at some point in its clearly lengthy history, and the iron hinges are rusted. 

“What's this?” Edward asks, as Thomas brings the box through the door. He places it on the floor and unwraps himself from mittens, muffler, coat. The weather is quite mild, for winter. It's more damp than cold, but Thomas feels even the slightest dip in temperature these days. Edward can hardly blame him. 

“My things.” Thomas hangs his coat on the rack, next to Edward's, then bends to remove his shoes. Once his feet are in their slippers, he stands up and continues, “I thought it was time to bring them from my brother's. Now that we have a home of our own.” Edward has to admit, he still likes the sound of that. _Our home._ It's not much, rented rooms in a boarding house in Portsmouth, because, while neither of them have the desire to sail again, they both want to be near the sea. They have two bedrooms, because they must, a small sitting room, and a smaller kitchen, for when they would rather have a cold meal alone than go down to the communal dining room for a warm one. This happens often. Edward hasn't eaten with the other residents while Thomas has been away in London. If they think him odd for it, he finds he could not possibly care less. 

“What sorts of things?” Edward is intrigued. On ship, and particularly on the shale, he and Thomas had many conversations, of a depth and intimacy Edward never experienced with any other man. He thought he knew everything about Thomas. Since they've been home, he's delighted in learning he was quite mistaken. There are still plenty of secrets left. 

“The key's been lost for decades.” Thomas carries the box over, placing it gently on the table. “Would you fetch me a knife?” 

Edward does. Thomas slips the blade into the lock on the front of the trunk. A quick jiggle, and Edward hears the lock catch. 

The box is packed neatly, of course. Edward would expect nothing less. Thomas smiles as looks inside, and Edward wonders how long it's been since he's laid eyes upon his belongings. Five years, at the least. 

Edward stands back, savouring the naked joy on Thomas' face as he pulls out one item after another, caressing them with such loving care, it makes Edward's heart leap. A small campaign medal is first, a silver disc on a red and blue ribbon.

“My grandfather Jopson's,” Thomas says. “He fought at Ligny in '15.” 

“I didn't know he was an army man.” 

“I don't know anything else about him. He died two years later.” 

“In battle?” 

“Fell down a privy while trying to hide from his lover's husband. He was drunk,” Thomas adds, unnecessarily. Edward had taken that as read. 

A book is next, nearly as battered as the box, the leather cover worn and the pages yellowed. Thomas puts it down on the table. “May I?” Edward asks. 

“Of course.”

It's a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets. Edward must make some sound of surprise, because Thomas says, teasingly, “You doubted I read?”

“I never thought you had the leisure time.” He certainly hadn't onboard ship. Thomas had always seemed to be doing something, going somewhere. Serving someone. “Do you have a favourite?” Edward only dimly remembers a few from his long ago school days. Something about “darling buds of May” and a “dark lady.” 

“Number twenty,” Thomas replies, unpacking a sewing kit, a heart-shaped necklace, and a lock of dark hair done up with a white ribbon. Edward can guess to whom those things belonged. Rather than see the tears welling in Thomas' eyes, Edward flips gently through the book. 

Edward has never read this sonnet. Of that, he is certain. If he'd known something like this existed, he would never have forgotten it. The words would have been etched on his brain at once. They voice his most hidden feelings, ones that were nascent even in his schooldays. “The master-mistress of my passion.” “A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted with shifting change, as is false women's fashion.” Damning words. Impossible words. Words he would once have given anything to see written by anybody else, let alone the great poet himself, as longed-for proof Edward was not alone in his shameful deviancy of emotion. 

“'Since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,'” Edward reads aloud, “'Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.'” 

It makes Thomas smile as he wipes his eyes. “I can assure you, darling, no women have taken pleasure from me.” 

“Nonsense. Even the crotchety old landlady swoons when you walk past.” The words are only half in jest. Since they've been home, a great many women have flounced and flirted and cast their eyes in Thomas' direction. That Thomas is apparently blind to them, and to his own charms, is the only reason Edward has not succumbed to searing jealousy. 

Thomas briskly returns his mother's things to the box. “Well, if that's so, then I am afraid she will be sorely disappointed.” He puts his arms around Edward. Immediately, Edward's own arms wind around Thomas' waist. He couldn't have stopped them if he'd tried. “My hands are quite full already,” Thomas murmurs, his lips against Edward's. “Aren't they, master-mistress?” 

Before Thomas, Edward saw himself as a stoic, one might even say passionless, man. It is quite amazing, he thinks at times, how meeting one person can change not only one's life, but one's very perception of oneself. 

Thomas sets him aflame. He always has. Rather than dim with the passage of time, this flame has only grown brighter, stronger. Now, in the privacy of their own rooms, Edward kisses Thomas in a way he would never dared in the north. Not because he was afraid of being caught, although that possibility lurked always, but because he was too anxious about other things, too exhausted and too consumed by outside pressures to bare his soul in this way. The pressures and exhaustion have eased, and these days, Edward can show Thomas just what he means to him, the way he deserves to be shown. 

They kiss, on and on. Thomas' hands slide up Edward's chest, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his waistcoat. Edward opens his eyes, hoping to catch Thomas' and redirect them to the bed. Instead, Edward's gaze falls on the open box. 

A few items remain inside. A pair of toy soldiers, redcoats with most of their paint peeled off. A few foreign trinkets, little wooden carvings and beaded pouches and things Edward has seen in bazaars all over the East, and which remind him Thomas had a seafaring life long before they knew one another. Strangest of all is a cylinder, close to a foot in length. It's made of some polished green stone, possibly jade, and the tapered tip bears a carved cap, lightly reminiscent of a mushroom. 

“What's that?” Edward asks, curious, when Thomas pulls back for a breath. His cheeks are flushed red as they always are when he and Edward engage in such activities. They turn several shades darker as Edward removes the jade column from the box. 

“It's from India,” Thomas says, which isn't much of an answer. 

“Damned strange, isn't it? Looks almost like a...” The word dies on Edward's lips. He can feel his own face heating as Thomas' blush turns closer to mauve. 

“I didn't always have you to keep me company, Edward.” He yanks the column from Edward's hands and thrusts it back into the box. “More's the pity.” He slams the lid decisively. “Are you coming?” Thomas heads towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his waistcoat and pulling his shirttails out roughly, as if they have somehow offended him. Edward follows, of course, but not before he casts a final glance at the box, shut as tightly as Pandora's, now, but with just as unforgettable a secret lurking within. 

Edward's mind goes back to that secret an unconscionable number of times over the next few days. The box has taken up residence in a corner of the bedroom. Thomas hasn't opened it again, but he doesn't have to. The thought of the jade cock—or, more precisely, the thought of Thomas using the cock for its intended purpose—lives on quite persistently in Edward's mind. If Thomas has any suspicions about Edward's new silent obsession, he doesn't reveal them. He doesn't say anything about it at all. Edward rather suspects Thomas hopes he's forgotten, as if such a thing were possible. 

One morning, a week or so after the initial discovery, Thomas kisses Edward good-bye and goes out, leaving Edward alone with the object of his distraction. 

It's not a gentlemanly act. Edward would be the first to admit it. It is devious. Underhanded. Not something befitting a man of Edward's standing. Still, he can't help himself. Almost as soon as the door shuts behind Thomas, Edward gets a knife and sticks the blade into the lock of the trunk. 

Opening it is not as easy as Thomas made it appear. In a way, that makes this worse. As he jiggles and fidgets with the knife, Edward has ample time to come to his senses. He does not. Instead, Edward's spirits soar, in victory and in something else, when the lock finally catches and he's able to lift the lid. 

The cock is heavier than Edward expected. Holding it in both hands, he feels the weight of it on his palms, something akin to awe building within him. It's certainly no trifling piece. Fleetingly, Edward wonders how it compares to his own cockstand. The false cock is longer, certainly. Its girth seems comparable, but the smooth, cool stone must offer a very different sensation to heated human flesh. _Does he ever miss this?_ Edward wonders. 

It's not something Edward himself has ever experienced, with stone or with flesh. Even now, with the man he trusts more than any other, Edward plays only the active role when they engage in coupling of this type. Thomas certainly makes no complaint about it. The image comes to Edward's mind of Thomas laid open for him, cheeks burning red, eyebrows quirking up and down like marionettes on strings, while he sighs and gasps and clutches the covers or the bedframe or Edward's shoulders. He certainly seems to garner a great deal of joy from having Edward inside him. Did he love the false cock as much? More? Did he pant and groan for it the way he does for Edward's cock? Or was that solitary act a less obviously dramatic one? 

Edward often wishes he had the means to travel back in time. He doesn't regret going on the Arctic expedition. He can't, not when it was the choice that led him to Thomas. But there are so many decisions he would have made differently, so much he would like to change about what he did there. For the first time, Edward finds himself imagining going back further still, to a time before the expedition. He pictures Thomas, young and healthy the way he was when they left Greenhithe, in some small turret room, bringing himself to heights of ecstasy with one hand on his own cock and the other holding this false one inside him. 

Edward sets Thomas' toy aside. He unfastens his trousers, and frigs himself to a quick and happy climax, that picture of Thomas lodged firmly in his mind. 

***

Lady Franklin approved her late husband's biography. 

Edward doesn't have to read her gushing foreword to know that. It's pure hagiography. The Admiralty will never admit what _Terror_ and _Erebus_ experienced was anything more than unpredictable bad fortune. They cannot, given Lady Franklin convinced them to refrain from prosecuting the survivors. Edward will always be grateful to her for that, but he feels no reluctance whatsoever to toss the infuriating book aside when Thomas slides up beside him on the sofa, nuzzling at Edward's bare cheeks.

A full beard, Edward learned, reminded him too much of the man he'd been over there. And Thomas, apparently, always harboured a dislike for Edward's comforting and, he himself had believed, stylish whiskers. 

“Not that you weren't handsome with them,” Thomas added hastily, when this conversation came about. “I fell in love with you, didn't I?”

“In spite of my gross physical deformity, it seems.” Edward affected a light tone, but his pride was more than a little wounded. He had always thought himself quite dashing in the whiskers. 

“Not at all! But I do enjoy seeing the entirety of your lovely face, Edward.” 

“You can take responsibility for shaving it, then.” 

“You say that as if it's a burden for me, darling, rather than my heart's delight.” The words, and the enthusiasm with which Thomas said them, served to ease the hurt a little. The sensation of Thomas' lips kissing along his smooth jawline now eases it further still. 

“You,” Thomas murmurs, between kisses, “are a dreadfully naughty boy.” 

Edward feels a grin spreading across his face. “Am I, now?” 

“Oh, yes.” Thomas comes closer yet, levering himself onto Edward's knee. “You've been getting into my things, haven't you?” 

The grin withers. Edward can't deny it. On not one, but three separate occasions, he went into Thomas' box to examine the jade cock. On the last occasion, he even went to far as to slip it into his mouth, to see how it compared to having Thomas' prick there. It didn't. It felt like sucking on a stone. 

“Darling Ned,” Thomas kisses him, more soundly than he deserves. “You should have told me.” 

Edward sighs. “I know. I just...”

“I would be happy to read love poetry with you. I never thought it would be of interest.” 

Edward could lie, easily. It would be no hardship to read sonnets with Thomas, certainly not if there are others as revelatory as that last one. It would also save him a great deal of embarrassment if he let Thomas believe that was what he'd been thinking on all this time. 

But this is Thomas. Thomas, who found Edward overwhelmed and weeping the day they moved the first volunteers to _Erebus._ Rather than leave him be, Thomas embraced him. Disregarding all protocol, he held Edward in his arms, stroked his hair, comforted him the way he comforted the captain in the depths of his illness. Calmly, matter-of-factly. As if there was nothing shameful or even unusual about it at all. If he hadn't loved Thomas before, Edward would have then. If he hadn't trusted him before, he would have then. 

He hasn't stopped. Thomas was unfailingly by his side during the most trying times of Edward's life, never minding they were exceptionally trying for Thomas, as well. Even when Thomas lay near death, it was he who reassured Edward that all would be well, that Edward would find what it took to carry on. Edward can't repay his love with lies. 

“It was the...phallus,” Edward admits. “Not the poems. I can't seem to keep myself away from it.” For a moment, the words hang in the air. Then, slowly, Thomas removes himself from Edward's knee. The loss of him is excruciating. “I'm sorry, Tom. I...”

“I'm not going to, to, to put on a show for you, if that's what you're after.” It hadn't occurred to Edward to ask for one. “And you may think of me as some pathetic Mary Anne, so desperate for a cock up my arse I needed it even when I didn't have a man to give it to me.” He strays even further from any thoughts that ever crossed Edward's mind. “But I can assure you, Edward...”

“I wish to try it.” 

That, at least, stops Thomas' wild misunderstandings. He blinks, the look of confusion on his face so adorable, Edward can almost ignore the fiery blush rising to his own cheeks. “You always seem to have such a damned good time when I do it to you,” Edward pushes on, stomach flipping. _It's Thomas_, he reminds himself. _Only Thomas._ “Can you blame a fellow for wanting to give it a go?” 

“Not at all.” If he's surprised, Thomas doesn't show it. He moves in a little closer again, pressing his side against Edward's. “I'm happy to do it for you myself, if that's what you want.” 

“I know it's not the role you prefer.” 

Thomas laughs. “Just because a man loves whisky, Ned, doesn't mean he can't also enjoy a glass of port.” 

He's Ned again, at least. Edward takes that as encouragement. He swallows, trying to wet his dry throat. “There's...” He clears his throat. “There's something in particular I would care to try.” He realizes that now. Something he would never dare voice to anybody else. Something he only just now dares voice to himself. Once the thought is in place, it makes his blood run even hotter. Hot enough that he reaches over and squeezes Thomas' thigh, massaging the firm flesh with his fingers. Thomas responds to his ardour with a kiss, sweet as usual, but ending with a nibble to his lips. 

“I'm intrigued, my love,” Thomas says, returning to Edward's lap as interest, and a little lust, darken his beautiful eyes. 

Edward very nearly calls the whole thing off before it begins. 

Even with two strong glasses of liquid courage in him, the initial intrusion of one oily finger is so disagreeable, so humiliating, Edward has no idea what Thomas could possibly find to enjoy in it. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, about to pull away, when it happens. 

Thomas' finger brushes against something deep inside him. Edward is no anatomist. He couldn't say what this miraculous place might be, but a touch to it sends a jolt of pure pleasure coursing through his body. At once, Edward knows why this act is specifically banned by the Articles. He'd always believed it was simply the illegality and the immorality of it. Now, he knows the truth. It's because if the men were permitted to do this, they would never want to do anything else. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“No.” Edward can hear the laughter in Thomas' voice. He kisses Edward, on the lips and then on the cheek. “Just me, darling. Like that, do you?”

Edward doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he pushes back against Thomas' hand, an action far more wanton than he would have expected from himself, and spreads his legs wider still. 

The principal intrusion, when it comes, is not quite what Edward expected. It's hard, of course. Even though Thomas takes pains to warm it beforehand, the jade is cold. Still, the false cock does its job, pressing against that spot Edward has, in the last quarter of an hour, grown to adore more than any body part he possesses. Edward is breathless, panting with lust before Thomas even says, “Ready?” He nods. Holding the jade prick in place, Thomas kneels and deftly takes Edward's real one into his mouth. 

Once, as the two of them lay wrapped in post-coital bliss, Thomas mentioned, “One of the reasons I love being with you, darling, is that you last so damned long.” Edward has stamina. In life, and in bed. It is a source of pride, and he demonstrates absolutely none of it now. He spends so quickly and so voluminously, Thomas chokes.

“Sorry, sorry.” Edward says the words, but he can't bring himself to feel regret. He can't bring himself to feel anything but pure, unadulterated bliss. His knees tremble. In the moment before they give out, he feels poor Thomas, still coughing, remove the jade cock with an indecent, oily squelch. Edward collapses onto the bed. Immediately, Thomas is on him, all but attacking Edward with his mouth and his hands. His hard prick pushes against Edward's thigh. _I should do something about that_, Edward thinks, vaguely, but the idea goes no further. He feels boneless, paralyzed in the best of ways, unable to do anything but murmur words of love and encouragement as Thomas brings himself off above him, spilling onto Edward's stomach and his thighs. 

“I take it that was enjoyable for you?” Thomas says, much later. His heart, beneath Edward's hand, has slowed nearly to its regular pace, and Edward himself is slowly returning to normal. The first sensation, upon descending from the peak of his pleasure, is embarrassment. He buries his face against Thomas' side. 

“I'm sorry it was rather fast.” 

“But it was what you wanted?” 

“It was...” Edward can't describe it. Having Thomas like that, everywhere, was overwhelming, in a way he can't put into words. 

“You are speechless? My old companion is that pleasurable?” Thomas teases, but Edward answers seriously.

“_You_ are that pleasurable, Thomas.” 

“Ned!” Edward doesn't need to look to know Thomas' face, nearly returned to normal, is flushing pink again. 

“'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'” Edward attempts. The words, dimly remembered, put Edward in mind of the schoolroom, being forced to recite from memory while the other boys snickered and the schoolmaster glowered, eagerly awaiting a mistake. “'Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's...summer's length? Lease? Hath all too short a date.'”

Edward feels Thomas' lips in his hair. “'A man in hue, all hues in his controlling; Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.'” Another kiss. “You stole my eyes all right, darling, that first night. All those handsome men in their lovely uniforms, and the only one I saw was you.”

“You see everything, Tom.” Including right into Edward, in a way no one ever has before. 

“Saw you were a good man,” Thomas agrees. “Even when you doubted it. Saw you loved me, before you knew it.” 

“Before I could say it.” Knowing it had come very early on. 

“I'm glad you did. Say it. And say you wanted this. You can tell me anything, Ned. And I shan't be ashamed of anything with you either. There's no need to hide.” 

“No.” _It's just_, he thinks, as Thomas pulls the blankets over them, _that we've had rather a good deal of practice at it._

***

The next time Thomas goes into London to see his brother, Edward endeavours to eat in the boarding house dining room at least once. It's excruciating. One of the other residents, a young man who puts Edward very uncomfortably in mind of Mr. Hickey, makes a point of asking several times after Edward's “cousin what lives with him”, in a tone that indicates he doubts their relationship. Another, an elderly woman, tells a long and exceedingly dull anecdote about once spying Princess Alice in the park with her nanny. 

“How do you know it weren't some other rich younker?” The would-be Hickey asks. The woman has no response to that, but turns in her chair and addresses only Edward for the duration of the meal. 

When Thomas finally arrives home, Edward is eager to tell him of this self-sacrifice, anxious to see the pride on his face. He is forestalled, however, when Thomas presents him with an oddly shaped package, wrapped in brown paper. 

“What's that?” 

“A gift.” Thomas' smile has an unusually saucy quality to it. “For you. Well, and for me. I just had to have it.” 

Edward sits on the sofa, waiting until he is joined by Thomas before he carefully removes the paper. Once the object is revealed, he immediately drops it. Thomas catches it neatly and holds it proudly, as if it were a prize fish. 

It is not. It is another carving, this one of bone-white ivory. It's only slightly longer than the jade cock, but, more ambitiously, it is comprised of two pricks rather than just one. Each is meticulously detailled with veining, and attached to its mate by a small, carved stand in the middle. Both point outwards. “This...” Edward isn't sure what to say. He lands on, “Must have cost a fortune.” 

“Worth it, I think, darling. After all, you seemed to enjoy the other one so much, I thought we ought to both get in on the fun.” The saucy grin intensifies. “I do plan to be with you a very long time. I shouldn't wish you to grow bored.” 

“I don't anticipate that will be a problem,” Edward replies, frankly. “Although I do think we need to get a trunk with a proper lock and key.” While the knife-lock seems secure, it's not a confidence he wishes to put to the test. Certainly not with that odious Hickey-ish neighbour crawling about the place. 

“First thing in the morning,” Thomas promises. “We'll get a safe for all our toy cocks.” It's not a sentence he ever thought to hear, but there is so much about his life Edward never anticipated. Rather than concern himself with embarrassment, he leans in to kiss Thomas, and gives his mind over to considering the logistics.


End file.
